Steven

They were those days after marrying when we went at it with abandon. For the first time ever I feared not, the inevitable consequences of unbridled desire. Upside down, inside out, right side up, on the counter, in the tub, against the wall, in the bed. Apartment number ###, Miami, FLA

A new dawn. The end of the old guard. The start of a new age.

Nearly half a life ago - my life. Only half a life? Seems like more. I was 34 and now I’m 65. I guess the first half, shrouded by the curtains of adult subterfuge make the more recent years seem more lived.

But then, man! Back in 1990, banging away like two wild beasts, what a memory! What a bright light shinning! What a vivid image of the past!

Dogs are Like Humans. They look around and think, then they look around once more. The difference is that dogs don’t take notes.

The big difference between now and forty years ago is that forty years ago I felt like I had forty more years left ahead of me than I have now.  I suspected that I had at least forty more, and then some, but now I don’t know what to expect. Some.

Sure, there are other differences, but those are small differences compared to the narrowing of time.

I had troubles. Troubles with wives, and jobs, and thoughts that would keep me awake when I was better off asleep.  I still have the same troubles – no difference there.

I had times when I felt on top of the world, master of my own kingdom, top of the heap.  Those times still come – no difference there.

Looking over the expanse of the past forty years of my sixty-four in total, I see an astounding consistency in feeling and being.  But now this feeling of time closing in on me is a new thing that I need to learn how to tame, so that it doesn’t interfere with all the bad stuff and the good stuff that I have been dealing with from the beginning, and that I want to continue dealing with until the end.

Sleet came down heavily in Miami. Ice particles covered the balcony of our 9th floor apartment. How odd! It must have been 80 degrees outside, but cold upper level currents clashed violently and let all hell loose for several minutes.

Later in the evening other currents clashed. These were inside the apartment, inside my wife’s womb, and all hell was let loose. A stream of water trickled down her leg. Etienne signaled his time to break free had come.

He was in there long enough, kicking and poking and giving all kinds of signs that fetal living was just a phase to be done with. It was temporary just like the ice in Miami.

Tomorrow he will be twenty-nine. It is just a phase, but he’s not kicking and poking, not yet, and neither am I.

Wearing dirty panties promotes a cleaner and healthier environment. Washing less conserves energy and resources.

Wearing dirty panties is potentially more erotic than wearing clean panties. The fragrance of natural body fluids and excretions can be an aphrodisiac that promotes healthier and more satisfying sexual relations and deeper love.

Dirty panties save money and time. Wearing them often will have a positive impact on many aspects of your life. Avoid falling victim to the false notion that changing panties daily is a good thing.

Changing into clean panties daily is definitely not a good thing. Don’t be fooled. Wear dirty panties often, and be a part of making our planet a better world.

I got shards of weed, bud and seed, I couldn’t get a good high, couldn’t get a good high.

I love you so much that the first and last time I ever let you down is when I lower your casket in the ground.

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A long long while back, like around 50 years ago, a dear friend of mine gave me some wise advice. He told me that I should let my balls breath when sleeping. Since then I almost always let ‘em breath. It’s easy, you just remove your pants and underpants before bed, and that allows air to flow freely around your balls

Everywhere I go when I’m sleeping there is a shadow girl. She has been taking care of me. She isn’t shy about it and doesn’t try to hide it. She takes care of me and I take care of her.

Shadow Girl is good and kind and nice to me and I love her while I sleep. When I awaken I just think about her. Soon I will go back to sleep so I can do stuff with her again.

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With a pat of butter and black coffee I’m good for a few hours. I’m nourished, full and eclectic. Moreover, I’m down to earth.

Bon appétit

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Everywhere I go, even where it is bleak and hopeless, I find a perfect little corner where I can envision promise and expect a spark that will bring joy and a better future.

I look up from the street into a window. There too, inside, below the sill, there might be a desk and chair - a perfect little spot to write my song. Behind there is a bed - a perfect little place to make love. There on top of the world one more time.

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I was once twenty-three years old and for some reason or another my father and I were talking about alcohol.  I told him that they call gin goofy juice these days, and I asked him if that is what they called it back when he was younger.  He didn’t flinch or ask questions or lecture me or express any kind of emotion or opinion about this snippet of information that I had offered.  He just said “no” and we moved on with the conversation.

It would be good to be able to talk with him now, nearly forty-three years later, about that conversation just to tell him how immature I was to think Goofy Juice was a thing just because I heard that from some gin guzzling coworker. 

As a noun that represents the physical construct, the meaning is clear.

As a sense of vision it is “narrowly” defined be it eyesight or perspective of thought.

As a verb - now that’s when it gets tricky because it it can be an action of body or machine. It can be metaphysical or metaphorical. It can be of another sense that describes a movement forward or progress forward or backward.

I’m currently in a tunnel and I’m tunneling through and now I can see the light on the other side. Whenever I get used to the interior aspects of the tunnel I always see the end. If not I would be entombed and that would be the end.

The end of the tunnel.

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After she died I had her cremated and I took the ashes to some of her favorite places leaving a sprinkling behind in each. Then I separated the remaining ashes into portions and after giving her kids theirs I buried mine with me.

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Sweet and simple, like a spoonful of honey. She wouldn’t tire from my driving energy, much of which came from her. It was a spontaneous sustainable closed circuit system of frenzied shock waves in heightened balance. Pulsating vibrancy high in the cordillera of Central America and in the “costera caribeña” enough to remember, smile about and feel accomplished for in ensuing decades.

Then she came back to me in my dreams last night in an updated version of herself. Her straight hair now curly, and the balance had broken. We were no longer of the same magnetic pole keeping our vibrating ends from colliding. Looking for ways to join hot-ends she came on to me and I stoked the flames with a warm wind. She sought the intimacy of cannabis, curly hair awry, arms stretched and on me.

Resisting was no option, and if it were it isn’t the one I would take. Madame Cervantes tamed our energy and we became a thing. A real thing.

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